


Remember?

by onepercent



Series: Silence [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Multi, Post-Phillip's death, sad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercent/pseuds/onepercent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his son's death, Alexander gets more and more forgetful. It kills her, having to remind him every day of what's gone in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember?

**Author's Note:**

> I have a small headcanon that Alex calls Eliza Lizzie once they get to know each other.

"Lizzie?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Have you seen John lately? He isn't picking up his phone."

"Alexander..." Eliza sets down the pan she had been washing into the sink. She dries off her pale hands on a dishrag and glides into the living room, where Alexander sits frumpily on their rosy, overstuffed couch. He glares at his phone and types out the phone number again, too-long nails clicking on the screen. 

"Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't gotten on Thomas' back like I have lately. He tweeted about how racism isn't an issue anymore the other day. Can you believe that, Lizzie?! He's fucking black! Seriously though, remember that time me and John totally ripped Charles Lee a new one through the paper? God, that was fucking awesome. And seeing his face the day after I published it–do you remember? It was like heaven on earth, Lizzie, heaven on this god forsaken earth. But really though, honestly, though, I would have thought John would back me up on this. We've been fighting on Twitter for like three days, Thomas and I have, and John hasn't said anything. Then again, we haven't seen him in a while, I wonder where he is, don't you, Lizzie–"

"Alex," Eliza says sharply. She knows he'll go on and on and on for days like this, talking about that asshole Thomas and what he saw in the paper today (he's a writer and editor of one New York Post) and what he had for breakfast if nobody stops him. 

"Hm?" Alexander looks up from the phone, thumb poised to dial again. His eyes are wide and dark, bright in the way a black hole is–not at all luminous, but swirling, steaming, pulling in lost souls from the stars. 

"C'mon, babe, you can't keep doing this to yourself, we've gone over this so many times," Eliza says warmly, tenderly, like she does every time this happens. More than it should, really. She sets a small hand on his slumped shoulder, smiling sadly at the confused shrug between his eyebrows. 

"What do you mean? Go over what? You know I don't pay attention sometimes, sorry, Lizzie."

"You've got to stop trying to call John," Eliza says, reaching down to take the phone from his calloused grasp. Alexander laughs nervously, as if he knows what she's about to say. He should know, as it's happened before. This conversation is starting to become like a broken cassette having to be rewound, again and again. Eliza is tempted to just record the conversation and plug the headphones of it into her Alexander's ears when he inevitably will question where John is again. 

"Why would I do that? Remember that time we FaceTimed him for like 10 hours straight? Or when we–"

"Alex, John is dead."

His pupils dilate a little. His hands shake, minuscule but noticeable, if you're looking. She is. His eyes open wider, somehow, as he asks, "What?"

"He's been gone for, what, fifteen years? Almost twenty?" Eliza remarks as if it's nothing. It's not. John was his everything, their everything. The reckless son-of-a-bitch was the best husband either of the couple could ever ask for. He was a paramedic, a hero. Didn't deserve to die, but that's a thought for later. 

"What?" Alex repeats, the crease on his forehead growing deeper as his eyes glaze. "He's not dead. Is he?"

"Yes, he is, Alex," Eliza snaps. She does not usually snap at anyone ever, but a woman is allowed to be frustrated every once in a while. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You know he's dead, you do, it's all in here." She taps his temple gently with a smooth manicured index. Her tone softens. "What happens up there? Does it get mixed up like it does with Phil sometimes?"

"Phil," Alexander says, like he's tasting the word for the first time. God, and does that make Eliza infinitely more want-to-cry. Her husband has seemed so removed since his death, quiet and forgetful. He looks up at her again with salt-coated eyes. "You mean Philip."

"Yes, Philip," she nods. "You remember him, at least."

"He's dead, too, right, Lizzie?" Alex says. Eliza ducks her head as tears start to dribble down her round cheeks. She wipes them away, but she has the feeling he can still see them. 

"Yeah, he is."

"Like John."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Eliza."

"I know."

"I really am, Elizabeth."

And damn, if that isn't what makes her sob into her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the characterization is alright with Eliza. I've never written her before.
> 
> Feedback is eternally welcomed in the form of constructive criticism, praise, ideas for future works you might want to see written, or anything else you could think of.


End file.
